The Cynical Seamstress
by Ben Alexander
Summary: Faced with a dreadful fate, Katherine flees home only to encounter a besotted dolt of a prince, a clingy waif, a gaggle of gossips and above all, her destiny. All she wants is to set up shop as a seamstress. Will she do so without losing her sanity?


**Note to the reader: **Before the completion of the second chapter, this will be reedited and re-posted for my own sanity. I'm not happy with this chapter at all, but wanted to get it out on the net as the idea has been floating around in my head since last summer.

* * *

**The Cynical Seamstress**

**Chapter the First:** _In Which Young Kat Ventures Out into the Wide World Only to Further Scrutinize It_

_

* * *

_When it comes to most things I can be a bit of a perfectionist.

A stitch in time saves nine, and I've really taken that expression to heart lately. To tell truth, the world seems to be slowly suffocating me. I'm tired of meandering about the cottage, throwing together dismal meals to be devoured by individuals who haven't the time to bother to notice me. Not that our family was ever idyllic or anything-- quite the contrary. My parents and sister are known throughout the village for their wide range of eccentricities; however I managed to escape a similar malady upon conception remains a mystery.

While I possess a nagging sense of belonging at home, I can't truly apply any sense of fondness towards my family members. I perceive them as a gaggle of oddities better viewed from afar; close contact is to be strictly avoided. I've never exactly understood how I fit into this family unit and perhaps I should feel grateful for that.

Mother never was quite right in the head, so I've gathered. Her peculiar habits did not become quite apparent, however, until the accident. I'll spare you the details, but she was visibly changed. It was around that time that she began standing on the street corner for hours on end, churning fresh cream into butter which would never be eaten, and glaring at any passersby who dared to challenge her gaze; however the idea ever manifested itself into her troubled little mind simply eludes me. A few times, I'm sure, she narrowly escaped arrest in spite of her abnormal behaviors; the police were rather frightened of her.

My father was equally detached from the family he barely managed to sustain; any extra money he'd come across quickly disappeared as he returned from the village pub, a happier man on the whole, bottle in tow. Little more than a youth of little means, he married my mother out of love when he could afford the tarnished wedding ring that she rarely bothered to wear as her children grew and her marriage dwindled to meaningless exchanges between herself and her husband.

God bless her, my sister Elizabeth may be the most troubled of the three. She has an odd fascination with woodland creatures; perhaps I'm to blame as I encouraged it in her infancy. She'd chat the hours away, glued to the windowsill where the songbirds and squirrels would gather to regard her intently. It wasn't so dreadfully troubling at first; the only trouble was when they started to talk back.

Thus, I only found solace in donning a torrent of stitches and forever mending piles of their clothes; simple gestures which would never be appreciated. I took in extra sewing from the neighbors to make ends meet, but I found the entire affair a fruitless attempt. We never managed to have much extra pocket-money despite my determination. Elizabeth, if able to distract herself from the open window, would sometimes toss her head back in a whirlwind of golden curls, laughing that I was a bit of a dolt. The irony was not lost on me. Believe me.

It was not until my seventeenth year when the prospect of marriage seemed undeniably close that I decided to leave home for good.  


* * *

I plunged the threaded needle back into the square of fabric, vaguely listening to Elizabeth's erratic ramblings and paused from my work to light the fireplace to heat supper through again; from scraps of questionable meat and vegetables, I'd managed to make a light, flavorful broth. The effort would be of no value to the others.

"Papa's home," Elizabeth suddenly intoned from her windowsill, taking me aback as her words were rarely directed to me. This was the first sign that something was horribly amiss about that night.

"Thank you," I mumbled as the door swung open and our father stumbled through. He was handsomer in youth; marriage had dulled his light blue eyes to a steely gray, while his chestnut curls were already beginning to whiten with age. His breath smelled of whiskey and he slammed a heavy bag on the table, nearly knocking my sewing to the floor with his clumsiness.

"Girl," he gestured towards me and I bowed my head to him, feigning respect.

"Good evening, Papa," I whispered gently; I believe I resented him most of all.

"I believe I have discovered the solution to our futures today," he continued, taking his seat at the dining-table.

I bustled towards him with a bowl of the stew, "Providence, indeed that is wonderful news," I was an excellent liar.

He poured himself a tall glass of wine from a jug which always stood at the center of the table and grinned at me; this was a worse sign yet.

The door burst open a second time and Mother floated in on a wisp of air like a scatterbrained fairy or a lame schoolboy or something; she cradled the butter-churn gingerly in her arms as if it was a child, "Such a beautiful afternoon," her eyes seemed glazed over with distant, stupid thoughts.

My father ignored her entrance, already on his second bowl of stew, "Katherine, I've noticed you lately dawdling about the place with your needles and other such nonsense. I've decided it's time enough to put your interests to good use."

I stared at him, confused that he'd been paying attention to me lately more so than anything else; I nodded my head mutely, bidding him to continue. Elizabeth and Mother stared at us both with only the slightest of interest.

"You're to be married off in a fortnight."

I was stupefied, "How have you arrived at that conclusion?" I asked, grabbing at a chair to steady myself as I felt liable to faint; the room felt stuffy and hot.

Elizabeth and Mother seemed to chuckle to themselves at my dismay; I glared at them both, feeling trapped in my fate.

"I met an elderly gentleman at the pub-- of good upbringing. Of wealth. The poor man's mind is going, and I seized the opportunity to introduce the idea of marriage into his head. He's a bachelor, you see," my father paused to gulp down a second (or third) glass of wine, "He seemed very interested in you. I told him of your hobbies; your sewing needles, your knack for mending the tapestries and clothes our neighbors hand over. I made a simple offer; a simple task for you to prove yourself to him."

"What am I to do?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"He's to shut you up in a room and you are to spin the roomful of straw into gold."

"But what does that have anything to do with sewing?" I asked incredulously, "Have I been known to go traipsing about town with a spindle?"

Elizabeth giggled at my expense and grabbed for a piece of stale bread from the side of the table opposite my father. She chewed thoughtlessly and rolled my eyes at the stupidity of it all.

"I was given five hundred gold coins for the deal; I'll be given another thousand upon your completion of the task."

Elizabeth was suddenly all ears, "We've never had that much money to our names," she clapped her hands together excitedly and I nearly wretched.

Mother just stared at us with the same wide-eyed, vacant expression.

"Too ridiculous, even for this family," I deduced, looking away from them as they disregarded me yet again.

That was the night I packed my few belongings together and set off into the twisted, imposing woods.  


* * *

  
I'm not going to be melodramatic or anything because that's just not the type of person I am. The full moon lit the path before me and for the first time in my life, I felt utterly at peace as I ventured out to the world with half the gold coins my father had been given jangling in my pockets. I felt the coins were rightfully owed to me as I had earned them, on some level. I disappeared through the door wordlessly; Elizabeth may have stirred in her sleep but I doubted it. The family would awake, search about the cottage for a few minutes and then erase me from their minds. I would be grateful for that.

I left home completely disregarding all nasty bits of gossip pertaining to the forest; the stories of midnight meetings with Satan, stolen virginities, rabid animals, etc. I'm sure you've heard of similar "incidents," so rest assured that there was no need to be alarmed.

As morning neared, I began to resent the world around me more and more. The trees which encircled me were gargantuan metaphors for the implausibilities I had been subjected to all my life. I hated everything about the ache in my legs, the cheerful blue sky beginning to poke through the treetops, the frivolous little animals racing around in the underbrush. I wanted the trees cleared away so I could breathe steadily again.

"This is madness," I whispered aloud, quickening my pace despite my intense fatigue; I hadn't caught a wink of sleep the night previous.

"Hullo, there," I turned, wondering if I had imagined it; unfortunately, I was mistaken and it was a dull-looking youth my age who would surely drive me to the brink of insanity with his ignorance.


End file.
